


You're Home Man         (That's A Long Road You Drove Us Down)

by Brendan_Rendering



Category: Runrig
Genre: Alba - Freeform, Angst, Celts, Fame, Gaelic Language, Gen, Gàidhealtachd, Hebrides, Home, Homecoming, Islands, Landscape, Life - Freeform, Music, Nostalgia, Real Life, Scotland, Self-Reflection, Skye - Freeform, Song Lyrics, Songfic, gaidhlig, rockstar - Freeform, runrig - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:28:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27438853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brendan_Rendering/pseuds/Brendan_Rendering
Summary: He left the band but the music never left him, there's nothing like going home to realise there are some things that will always be a part of you.A Runrig song fic------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------The title is from “The Cutter”, about a native of Skye who moved away but still returns to the island regularly.  More info here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5LHh0X2TPaQ&list=PLrcXkBsBsjNTWH3SaIdaredokNXPAFVTf&index=1&ab_channel=CoutionorAll lyrics used are from the songs named in the titlesChapter titles are the name of 2 songs in chronological order, with the exception of Runrig's album “Play Gaelic” (1978) & Donnie's album "Gaelic Heart" (2003).  I omitted these as they are entirely in Gaidhlig and although I am learning the language I don't know enough to be able to translate, I feel they aren't my words to use.





	1. Going Home and Nightfall On Marsco

**Author's Note:**

> Characters portrayed herein are real people, scenarios described are my interpretation. I am a massive fan of Donnie and Runrig and have the highest respect for and love of their work. I did not intend, at any point, to say anything out of turn.
> 
> Lyrics are used under the fair use exception to the British copyright law. Fair dealing is governed by Sections 29 and 30 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.  
> https://www.bl.uk/business-and-ip-centre/articles/fair-use-copyright-explained# 
> 
> The lyrics used are from the songs named in the titles. Lyrics used from the period 1973-1999 are copyright of Calum and Rory McDonald, those used from 1999 – 2006 are copyright of Donnie Munro.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Going Home - from the 1979 album The Highland Connection  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AReZEjERo_o&list=PLrcXkBsBsjNTWH3SaIdaredokNXPAFVTf&index=2&ab_channel=Coutionor 
> 
> Nightfall On Marsco - from the 1981 album Recovery  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CTtdvo-fr_Q&list=PLrcXkBsBsjNTWH3SaIdaredokNXPAFVTf&index=3&ab_channel=Runrig-Topic

The man walked slowly across the moor.

** Across the moorlands, past the mountains  
O'er the rivers, beside the new streams  
Something tells me that I'm going home **

His black woollen coat was fastened against the chill of the wind, collar pulled up to fend off the worst of it's biting breath at his neck. As hardened as he was to the autumnal island air, he was also conscious of his advancing years. He was no longer the invincible young rock-star dancing and jumping around the stage. These days he had swapped the tank tops and skinny jeans for a more  
sophisticated look - today it was sturdy boots, slim fit jeans, a button down shirt under the long coat. Now his priority was comfort and warmth, there was much less pressure to impress people these days, he had built up a loyal fan-base over the years and it was enough for them to see him perform.

He was thinking of the early years of his career as he walked, the humble beginnings of his band, their rise to fame, all of those years spent dancing around the stage under the heat of the lights, it felt a long time ago and a long way from this place. He took a deep breath of the fresh island air, the serenity he would never tire of. However much he loved his career, however strong the desire to perform was, being here on the moors of home would always be his goal.

These days he took solace in the happy memories of the times gone by, and embraced the comfort in that those wild years were over and he was free to enjoy a much more relaxed pace of life. He was home permanently now, with the exception of the odd tour, the breeze at his back and the grass underfoot, it felt right.

** Now the skylines reach my eyes  
The ridge stands out in highland skies  
I just can't believe I'm going home **

He held his head high as he walked, with the easy confidence that comes from familiar surroundings and the happiness of being where he belonged. He had been raised in this land, learned to walk on this ground, ran over this soil as a child, a teenager, slowed down and took time to appreciate his surroundings as an adult. His footsteps had echoed over these moors for years, his prints permanently embedded in the bracken. It mattered not how many times he had left, how many miles from home he travelled, the distant lands he found himself treading, he always came back home. This land was always so familiar to him. He would wager he could be blindfolded and walk across a moor and he would be able to differentiate between the feel of his home and that of the Northumberland national park or the Yorkshire Dales. It was ingrained, as much a part of him as his accent, that feeling that dwelled deep within as though a magnetic force – always pointing North, always seeking out home.

His gaze fell on the familiar sights, the rock formations in the distance, the towering Cuillin shrouded in the low lying clouds. He knew every peak and pit on it's surface. He could smell the fresh tang of the loch in the distance, so faint as to be almost indistinguishable from the sharp salty scent of the Little Minch, but not to those who knew it well. This was his land, the land of his ancestors and the land of his children, these were important things to learn, to preserve this knowledge and culture for future generations. 

The wind whipped at his back, causing the collar and cuffs of his coat to flap as if impatient to be moving faster, but there was no rush today. There were the days in his youth when he was eager to be across the moors, the thrill of running, drawing in the crisp air to fill his lungs, the comforting dulled thud of his footfalls on the heath. He would run to reach the loch, chest heaving with exertion when he arrived, the sparkle of adrenaline shining in his eyes and present in the grin on his face. The boundless energy of youth and the ever present desire to move faster, live harder, love stronger. He would stride purposefully across the moor to reach the foot of the mountains in the distance. No longer, he was older and wiser now, these days he appreciated the journey as much as the destination. He took his time, being on the moors was, in itself, a purpose for the day. He had lived a life of speed, noise and light. Now he was content with the sedate pace, the falling dusk over his beloved land. To enjoy the tranquillity and peace of this landscape, he was happy to be home.

** Nightfall on Marsco  
Cuillin in sheets **

He cast his gaze upwards, the skies seemingly hanging low over Marsco, the earthy hues of the bracken clinging to the surface, the deep grey of the Gabbro filtering up to the lighter tone of the clouds above and the sea below. He remembered standing at the summit of Marsco, something he didn't do until later in his life than expected. It had been the same year he left the band, the memories as raw as the buffeting wind that day. The roads of his life like the veins of streams venturing down the mountainside and creeping across the moors, as he gazed down on his beloved island, it's mountains, moors, lochs and wide open spaces. He could see the places he played as a child, the places he had explored as a teenager, the places he revisited as an adult – home from university, then home from touring with the band. Every version of himself through the years was there somewhere, in this landscape. It was ancient and forever, holding safe the memories of it's sons and daughters to play out across the land as ghosts, echoing through time.

** For the dawning round Garsbheinn  
In patience we wait for the light **

It was poetic really, that it should be his first time on the summit of Marsco just after he had left the band, at a crossroads of his life. It was a strange adjustment from being the lead vocalist and guitarist in a world-famous band - to a politician. His departure from the band wasn't easy, he knew a lot of people were disappointed with the decision. But he had to do what he felt was right, to make a stand against the oppression of his people. He had hoped he could make his people proud and contribute towards positive changes for them all, to make leaving the band worth the sadness of walking away from that life. The stages tended to be smaller after he left the band, his aim had altered, to bring justice rather than joy to his people. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics: (all copyright of Calum and Rory McDonald)
> 
> Going Home - The Highland Connection (1979)
> 
> Across the moorlands, past the mountains  
> O'er the rivers, beside the new streams  
> Something tells me that I'm going home  
> -  
> Now the skylines reach my eyes  
> The ridge stands out in highland skies  
> I just can't believe I'm going home
> 
> Nightfall On Marsco - Recovery (1981)
> 
> Nightfall on Marsco  
> Cuillin in sheets  
> -  
> For the dawning round Garsbheinn  
> In patience we wait for the light


	2. Skye and The Cutter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skye - from the 1985 album Heartland
> 
> The Cutter - from the 1987 album The Cutter And The Clan

The wind whistled through the bracken, between the mountain pass, he could almost hear the roar of the crowd it carried with it, from the distant shores, the old days. So many years he had spent on a stage, he sung with his whole heart – his voice powerfully declaring the love he felt for this island, his island. He still heard the crowd cheering his name, chanting the name of the band, calling for an encore, clapping and whistling. Even here, now. It never really left him.

** But memories are old ghosts  
Mountains of black and gold  
Sunsets falling over the moor  
Oh take me there **

There were times when he closed his eyes he could see the bright glare of the stage lights, he remembered vividly squinting past the lights to the expectant crowd beyond, a sea of excitement, everyone with their arms in the air, singing along to his words. His own voice joined in the lyrics by thousands of others, sometimes they were louder than him. They sang as one. They were a part of the band, a part of the journey, one that was over for him now.

He felt the familiar twinge of sadness that always tugged at the corner of his memories, but regret? No. He did what felt right at the time, it was the correct decision. He knew it had been time to walk away from that life.

Even so, sometimes in the silence of the moors, he could still hear the crowd chanting his name. Out here in the stillness, miles from the large venues and the huge crowds. It was a memory that once experienced, could not be forgotten, he carried it with him always. 

** You take your dream  
You make life what you feel  
Appearances lead to deceive  
This drama so far from me **

From humble beginnings his band arose, ordinary boys from a long overlooked section of Britain, an island in the forgotten corner of Scotland. They were united by their shared experiences, the same village upbringing, a love and affinity for music. They had started out by playing in small village halls on their island, they practised their craft by playing modern pop songs for the younger people attending the dances, they also learned the traditional folk songs to play for the older generation. Their repertoire grew, with an impressive breadth of music in their set-list.

They left the island to attend universities on the mainland and it was only while they were away from home they realised how important their culture and heritage was. They returned home in the holidays and were playing music together, they started writing their own music in Gaidhlig, to celebrate their roots and reclaim their heritage.

** Wild geese fly low over your shores  
Hearts sailing over the trees  
Oh take me there! **

The band were proud to be bringing back the language, after it had undergone a near-fatal decline, although the people of the island weren't ready to be re-introduced to their fading culture at the time. The Gaidhlig pop songs were only accepted by the islanders after the band travelled across to the mainland and played to a new audience, the songs were loved by the people who weren't familiar with the language and culture, but that didn't lessen their enjoyment of the music. The band were spurred on by this success, continuing to write and perform mainly in Gaidhlig, once the islanders became aware of how well received their language was beyond their borders, they warmed to the idea of the band performing in their mother tongue. The people lost some of their ingrained shame that had been enforced upon them over hundreds of years of oppression from their southern neighbours. 

Being bilingual enabled the band to perform in english to reach a wider audience, but also sing in their native language and describe the history of their people when only Gaidhlig words could adequately tell their story. They covered folk songs but mostly wrote their own material, to keep the language alive, bringing the words to life in a new medium - to a new audience. They were proud of their culture and determined to be true to their roots and celebrate the Gaidhealtachd.

He felt that gave them a edge over other bands, they were doing something different, they were pushing boundaries by performing in Gaidhlig. It had counted against them at times, closed doors to them that no doubt would have been open to bands performing solely in english. It had cost them so much – almost everything at one point. But they managed to recover and come back stronger than ever, still utilising the tongue of the Gael. 

** Now the plane comes down from the morning sky  
And you touch the land where the fire won't die  **

He stopped by the loch now, gazing down into it's uninviting depths, watching the wind ripple the surface of the water in small waves towards him. The fine drizzle sprinkling the surface with a million tiny droplets, like a mirror image of stars in the sky above. He pushed his hands into his pockets for warmth as he raised his gaze to the ever darkening sky. The hills now silhouetted in the twilight, he still hadn't encountered another soul on his walk. It was the juxtaposition he admired – from the chaos of the band to the tranquillity of home, it was only now he had the time and the peace he could fully reflect on the years with the band.

** Johnny, you're home, man  
That's a long road  
You drove us down **

Everything they had achieved together, all they had been through, it was a universe away from where he was now. In the height of their fame there was very little time set aside for them to relax, to enjoy places like this. It had all been about big cities and big stages to bring in the big money. They could attract the crowd and so were pushed to do bigger and bigger gigs, longer and longer tours. 

The bright lights, the noise of the shows and the bustling cities, the flurry of activity of the times spent travelling. He always tried to be present when the roadies were setting up for a show, if he was able to. To stand in what would later become the front row of the audience, now deserted and silent, to see things from the opposite perspective. Now he was the one looking up at the stage, the empty mic stand in the centre where he would be standing in a few hours. He imagined how he would appear to someone in the crowd looking up, what they would think of his performance, what they would say to him if they could.

He had realised the money didn't make up for the time lost watching his children grow up. All those times on stage he looked out through the haze from the smoke machines, to the sea of fists in the air, hands swaying back and forth to the music. It felt like an extended family, but even the adoration of the loyal fans couldn't replace the real thing.

** The years roll back and the world grows small  
You stand on the banks in the wind and the rain  
And all of your money now can't hide this pain **

Remembering the journey that had carried them through the years still caused his breath to catch in his throat sometimes, they had achieved so much but had never sold out. It had always been about the music, they did what they did for all of the right reasons, as his band-mate once said “we make music so we don't have to go back to wearing ties.” There had been so many miles travelled over the long years, the memories and friends made along the way. The songs sung, the records sold, it had been a journey of a lifetime, an honour to have lived the life he had. 

**** You're home, man  
That's a long road  
You drove us down 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics: (all copyright of Calum and Rory McDonald)
> 
> Skye - Heartland (1985) 
> 
> But memories are old ghosts  
> Mountains of black and gold  
> Sunsets falling over the moor  
> Oh take me there  
> -  
> You take your dream  
> You make life what you feel  
> Appearances lead to deceive  
> This drama so far from me  
> -  
> Wild geese fly low over your shores  
> Hearts sailing over the trees  
> Oh take me there
> 
> The Cutter – Cutter And The Clan (1987)
> 
> Now the plane comes down from the morning sky  
> And you touch the land where the fire won't die  
> -  
> Johnny, you're home, man  
> That's a long road  
> You drove us down  
> -  
> The years roll back and the world grows small  
> You stand on the banks in the wind and the rain  
> And all of your money now can't hide this pain  
> -  
> You're home, man  
> That's a long road  
> You drove us down


	3. City Of Lights and I'll Keep Coming Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> City Of Lights - From the 1989 album Searchlight  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qh7GRFdf6oo&list=PLrcXkBsBsjNTWH3SaIdaredokNXPAFVTf&index=6
> 
> I'll Keep Coming Home - From the 1991 album Big Wheel  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M039-53h5_s&list=PLrcXkBsBsjNTWH3SaIdaredokNXPAFVTf&index=7

The band had started as a couple of brothers casually making music together, a year later he had joined as the lead singer and guitarist. There were a few changes to the line up in the earlier days, until the band found their rhythm and started to gain recognition. They set up their own record label before signing up to a major label when they achieved mainstream success and needed the external assistance. After all that time they had spent promoting themselves, fighting to be heard, after the setbacks and betrayal from an earlier national record label – everything had finally seemed to be falling into place.

He recalled those very early days - a group of lads playing, for fun, in small village halls. They didn't have a plan for the future of the band back then, they had all of the enthusiasm but were still honing their craft, they had so much still yet to learn. They seemed so young, it felt like such a long time ago now, so much had happened over the years to transform those innocent youngsters into the professional musicians they had become.

** I found my song and I started to sing  
Took me away on an olden wing  
So far from home  
Standing so lonely but not alone **

Those tiny village halls where they would play to a handful of people. A mildly interested crowd who had turned up probably out of boredom. It felt as if very little time had passed between those small halls, to playing gigs where the venues were so big he struggled to see the back of the room. There would be a vast sea of faces in front of him as he gazed out from the stage, hundreds, thousands of people looking up expectantly – these people had all paid money to see the band perform. That was a real awakening for him, the adoration of the fans they had never really expected, not to the extent to which it was evident.

They had went on to play for crowds so large they couldn't fit inside a venue, too many people to be contained by a room. The Loch Lomond gig especially stuck out in his memory – 50,000 people, screaming the name of the band, a sea of t-shirts emblazoned with the band's name. The noise that had reached him from that huge stage was phenomenal. It had all been for them.

The band had come a long way since those distant and uncertain days in the village halls on their island. To the heady heights of the large gigs, thousands of people every night, playing alongside the huge names of the day, headlining festivals. They were successful in the music charts, millions of album sales, merchandise, endless interviews on TV and radio, a legion of loyal fans.

The boys from Skye did good.

** In this empire of ache and rhyme  
Lovers and best friends are running blind  
I grasp your hand  
Is this the only world I understand **

How life turns in a circle, he mused as he strode across the moor, the springy heather underfoot a comfort as it always was. From growing up on the island and being in the band, now he was back where he started from. He was grateful and content to have been part of something as important as the band, to have spent his life doing what he loved. They had travelled extensively across the globe, earned glory, succeeded in the cut-throat world of professional music. It hadn't been long before their tours extended south of the border, overseas to Europe. The World. Nevertheless his island was big enough for him now, most of those experiences didn't need to be repeated, but he still had a lot of work to do here at home.

He had travelled seemingly everywhere, one of his more common memories was watching the tarmac speed past the window as their plane took off, another country, another tour. Endless hours they had spent in airports, flying, ushered into taxis, in hotel rooms, on tour buses. They often struggled to remember which venue they were playing that night, which city they were heading to next, which country they were in. Travelling took up so much of their time, but it was always the time spent on the stage that evoked the strongest memories for him. That feeling was unique, a once in a lifetime experience that he had the honour of participating in for many years.

** 'Cause there's cities and clouds in my eyes  
The empty streets and the raining nights **

He recalled the weeks in the tour bus driving from city to city, waking up somewhere different every morning, performing in a different venue every night. The endless trees and streetlights whizzing past the windows. The band on the bus, practising, writing, laughing. He smiled as he recalled the pressure of too many men crammed into too small a space. Their bond was stronger for it, those years they had spent thrust together, the stage became an extension of the tour bus. They were adopted family, united by their music and shared experiences in the band, in those days it felt as though that life would last forever.

On stage, he remembered looking to his sides, grinning at the guitarist and bassist either side of him and them smiling back at him. Their looks seemed to say, 'how did we make it here?' At the start of the shows, when the lights came up and the applause faded into a silent expectation in front of him, the boys at his side and behind him were all smiles. It was their time to shine. He would take a second to drink in the atmosphere, feeling the current of excitement from the audience rippling like static and their joy radiating towards him. The electric hush that was about to be shattered as their music would fill the venue, the next hour or so would be a constant wave of sound and adrenaline. But now, just for this second, all was quiet. The calm before the storm. He would look out over the audience for a heartbeat, grateful for this opportunity as always, thinking about how far his band had come, preparing for what was ahead. Glancing down at his guitar to position his fingers on the starting strings, before looking up once more to the audience. The moment had come to take a deep breath and begin.

** Wherever the highway unwinds  
I'll keep coming home **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics: (all copyright of Calum and Rory McDonald)
> 
> City Of Lights:  
> I found my song and I started to sing  
> Took me away on an olden wing  
> So far from home  
> Standing so lonely but not alone  
> -  
> In this empire of ache and rhyme  
> Lovers and best friends are running blind  
> I grasp your hand  
> Is this the only world I understand
> 
> I'll Keep Coming Home:  
> 'Cause there's cities and clouds in my eyes  
> The empty streets and the raining nights  
> -  
> Wherever the highway unwinds  
> I'll keep coming home


	4. Song Of The Earth and Things That Are

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Song Of The Earth from the 1993 Amazing Things  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GeUzI-OKpjo&list=PLrcXkBsBsjNTWH3SaIdaredokNXPAFVTf&index=8
> 
> Things That Are from the 1995 album Mara  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vbXr1HjH8HI&list=PLrcXkBsBsjNTWH3SaIdaredokNXPAFVTf&index=9

Music had always been an important part of the Gaidhealtachd culture and his own upbringing, something that was so rooted in island life, it was as ingrained as his accent. He sang about his island, about his country, he sang in his mother tongue. An ancient language weighted with the struggle and pride of a nation with a vibrant heritage and a core as strong as the rocks that majestically dominated the island's skyline.

When he performed away from home, the nostalgia he felt for these shores echoed back at him from the mouths of people who had never been, but they felt it in his words. That was enough. Everyone understood the passion of homesickness, a fierce feeling of belonging. This worked even on the European tours, people who didn't have english as a first language would be singing along to the english songs, but they would also join him in singing the Gaidhlig lyrics. He had a room of Germans chanting in Gaidhlig, “Aal-aah-baa”

** A singer in my bloodstream  
Stayed mainline all my life  
His voice filled my Atlantic  
A Celtic fire, a soul of white **

Perhaps that was the secret to their success, their songs were written from the heart, by themselves, about their own experiences. The lyrics were unique, not just about love and relationships, but about all aspects of life. No-one else was writing or singing about home, let alone with such feeling and emotion. The description in their songs was so strong it traversed many barriers – time, distance. It didn't matter if people didn't understand the lyrics, it was how it made people feel - that was universal.

** He wore the beauty of his people  
Came to tell it to the world  
Human tears, human oceans  
The greatest song I've ever heard **

Who would have guessed that so many years later, after the rest of the band had called it a day, there would be people discovering the music for the first time, experiencing a deep feeling of nostalgia and homesickness for a place they'd never been. From a different country, a different time, it did not matter. As soon as they heard him singing lyrics of 'home' an image of Skye materialised in their mind. At his words, a landscape of moors and mountains, streams and fields stretched out before their eyes. A clear and realistic picture had been painted with words that evoked an intense longing to experience the place so fondly sung of. 

** What do you do when your hope is raging  
What do you do when your hope is raging strong **

His accent was pronounced when he sang, he would never consider anglicising it for the mainstream crowd. They were who they were and where they were from was such a huge part of them it could not be ignored. Some of their songs were all in Gaidhlig – the first three albums almost entirely in Gaidhlig. He felt a surge of pride that his band had played a part in the resurgence of the language, as had the university of his island that he now worked with.

** Saw all the singers of the Gaidhealtachd  
And all the world could understand  
I heard, maybe I'm a dreamer  
I was not the only one **

A contentment settled over him, a feeling of pride in what he had achieved with the band over the years, the many fond memories, his political career and his solo career, his work with the university, bringing him up to the present day. His career had certainly taken a more relaxed pace of late, of which he enjoyed, to be able to work but without the pressure and the madness that featured heavily in the days of the band. The work they had put in to break through into the industry, and then when they reached the dizzying heights of fame, they always seemed to be touring. So many hours spent in the studio, writing, rehearsing, perfecting - ready to take their show on the road, recording albums. It did feel as though he barely had time for anything else in those days, he didn't want to be a stranger to his children, that's why he had to leave when he did. A multitude of reasons, that was an important one, for all the band was his life, he had another life with his family he wasn't prepared to sacrifice for the music. Some things were more important – not many, but this was.

** What do you do when the song you're singing  
What do you do when the song you're singing's gone **

Darkness was slowly falling across the mountains now, a blanket of night creeping down to the moors. The silence deepened, sounds amplified in the lack of light – birds singing to celebrate the close of another day. He looked up and could now see the stars beginning to shine through the twilight, sometimes he would camp out here, waking in the middle of the night to leave his tent and stare up at the sky full of stars. The endless black embedded with a million shining beacons, out here on the island with very little light pollution, was the best place to see the stars. They shone brighter even than the stage lights at the biggest gigs he played with the band, artificial lights could never match the natural beauty of the stars. He imagined each star was a memory of his time with the band, his life stretched across the sky at night to reflect upon, remember and smile at the infinite memories stirred by this phenomenon. There was something so peaceful about the night, all distractions of day faded away. A sharp contrast with the noise, light and bustle of those years on tour, that seemed a distant memory now, another time, another life.

** We never looked round corners  
To the changes they could bring **

Now he was back on his island and singing his own song, no compromise now. Although he felt the empty space on the stage around him these days. He did what he had to do at the time, he had to fight for what he believed in, but he was happy the band had continued with a new lead singer – two separate entities but running parallel. Still making new music, as he hoped they always would. They would always share the connection that had been forged thirty two years ago - half a lifetime. That bond that had been created would never be broken, too many shared memories and experiences, they had all been through too much, achieved so much. But that was the natural progression, after so much time as a unit, it was inevitable that a different path would be sought, new challenges lay on the horizon, home shores called. That was one of the things that are.

** The things that are  
And things that never can be  
Are things that we must bare  
To share our destiny **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics: (all copyright of Calum and Rory McDonald)
> 
> Song Of The Earth - Amazing Things (1993)
> 
> A singer in my bloodstream  
> Stayed mainline all my life  
> His voice filled my Atlantic  
> A Celtic fire, a soul of white  
> -  
> He wore the beauty of his people  
> Came to tell it to the world  
> Human tears, human oceans  
> The greatest song I've ever heard  
> -  
> What do you do when your hope is raging  
> What do you do when your hope is raging strong  
> -  
> Saw all the singers of the Gaidhealtachd  
> And all the world could understand  
> I heard, maybe I'm a dreamer  
> I was not the only one  
> -  
> What do you do when the song you're singing  
> What do you do when the song you're singing's gone
> 
> Things That Are - Mara (1995)
> 
> We never looked round corners  
> To the changes they could bring  
> -  
> The things that are  
> And things that never can be  
> Are things that we must bare  
> To share our destiny


	5. Fields Of The Young, Highland Heart and the Winds Of Our Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fields of the young From Donnie's 1999 album - On The West Side  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hVI4tco4srw&list=PLrcXkBsBsjNTWH3SaIdaredokNXPAFVTf&index=11
> 
> Highland Heart from Donnie's 2002 album - Across The City And The World  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TdRx2qEcvIM&list=PLrcXkBsBsjNTWH3SaIdaredokNXPAFVTf&index=12
> 
> Winds of Our Time from Donnie's 2006 album - Heart Of America  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hX-niLQnGzY&list=PLrcXkBsBsjNTWH3SaIdaredokNXPAFVTf&index=13
> 
> \--------------------------------------------------------  
> Tapadh leibh is Gaidhlig for Thank You

Night was drawing in fast as he was thinking about his final days as part of the band, that last concert – 1997, Stirling castle. The end of an era, but he knew he needed to leave the band to focus on his political career. He had high hopes of making a positive difference to a community he loved and devolution meant this was the perfect time to stand up to the tyranny of westminister. 

** What breaks the heart  
Is now easy to feel  
But the pain and the joy  
Forever in these hills **

His gaze swept the horizon one final time before he turned homewards once again, he considered his time as a politician and as a solo artist, when he realised he couldn't give up the music, it would always be an important factor in his life. He was still writing and recording music, there always seemed to be another song within him, words that needed to get out, a story that had to be told. Making music was a much quieter affair these days, now he wrote his own songs, it had been a long time since those days of the six of them crammed into small rooms, shouting ideas over the noise of each other singing and playing. These days he could afford to take his time, mould the songs into the shape that felt right for him, because now that was entirely his decision. No-one to compromise with anymore. 

** Where dark runs the sea  
And our memories fade  
Like the shadows on the shore **

As he retraced his steps back across the moor he was still lost in the past, recalling memories from across the many years with the band. Surely every little boy wanted to grow up to be a rock star, the fame, the fortune, the adoring fans and world travel. But having experienced all of that, everything being the lead singer in a world-famous band entails, it doesn't bring the same satisfaction as the feeling of returning home. The most expensive hotels at the furthest corners of the world can't match the luxury of waking up in your own bed and looking out of the window to the land where every landmark and feature is easily recognisable.

There's adventure to be found in living the life he had, in travelling, performing. But there's peace to be found at home, there's no better feeling than coming back. The contentment it brought to be around his own people and his old memories, in this land he knew so well. Nothing could compare.

** But my heart feels the surge  
Of the deep running river  
That carries me back  
To the fields of the young **

In the recording studio and during the live shows, he would sing with such utter conviction, his love for his island, his home. He carried that passion with him across the miles and the years, allowed the magic of nostalgia to infuse with the music. His gaze swept the horizon now, taking in the endless moorland that stretched out around him, the loch, the mountains rising majestically to touch the sky. Such beauty was unrivalled anywhere in the world. He would know. He'd been there, seen that, sang to the people, enjoyed his time performing. But he would always return home.

** An engine heart on a Highland highway  
A Gaelic voice with a Memphis smile **

He didn't regret his decision to leave the band, but sometimes he heard the roar of the huge crowds carried on the wind across the moor and if he closed his eyes now he could feel the guitar slung across his body, the heat of the stage lights. The adrenaline coursing through his veins.

For one fleeting, shining moment that passed in a heartbeat, the blink of an eye but simultaneously for twenty five long years of hard work with the band – the world had stopped for him. Waiting. Held it's breath so all that could be heard through the echoes of time, from the silence of the writing room to the roar of the stage, was a heartbeat. Lonely and strong. The flash of life, that driving force that saw them through those days, that voice that was always pushing boundaries. Questioning everything, striving for more. What if we played like this? This beat, this melody, what if we sang about this? 

Those thoughts stayed with him as he retraced his steps across the heath, he could see the edge of the moor and the road that would take him home. His journey was over for today, he'd spent enough time in the past, lost to the freedom of the moor, the night brought a close to his daydreams and it was time to return to the present. The houses in the distance and the lights of the town twinkling like fallen stars lighting the way back to a warm fireside. 

** In his dreams, a new dimension  
In his hopes, a different world  
Culture clash and a vain intention **

From a fan's point of view, the band did something that nobody else could, they had the ability to make their songs sound so different, they had the talent and the years of experience to put together music thoughtfully – not just churn out songs that would do well in the charts as so many others did. Their music had so much heart, soul, there was meaning in their lyrics, a story behind every song.

They sang for themselves and for their people, if others enjoyed their stories of home it was a bonus, but they weren't prepared to sell out to pull in a larger audience. They always stayed true to their roots, who they were, people respected and loved them for that. People understood what the band were trying to do, who they were, they needed no justification. Their music was a war cry to the world. It shouted “we won't be tamed, we won't be changed.” The spirit of the Gael always present, a strength, a voice, a spirit unheard of with any other band, there was always something that set them apart.

** On the morning clouds roll  
Where the moorland's on fire  
Where the turn on the road meets the sky  
And your heart its burning desire **

The Gaidhlig lyrics adding a personal voice to their music, making it their own, unique. They took the tales of old from their small island - to the world. The sound of the Gaidhealtachd ringing out from across the mountains and the moors, across borders, to Europe, the world. The words reached people who had never heard the language before and never would other than through the band. There were those who would hear the Gaidhlig lyrics and learn the language for themselves. It speaks in a way that the english language never could, it's sound, sentence structure and speech patterns convey a rich history, of a proud, hard-working and long-suffering population. From the land where the rocks are hard, but the people harder.

** And as it stands out here before us  
We feel the ghosts of another time  
Where all the roads we have travelled  
Lead us back **

The traditions live on through the music, the language evolves for a new generation to experience, along with the university on their island, which incidentally opened the same year as their band formed. Together they had been championing the cause for the Gaidhlig language all of these years. 

It continues, the everlasting song. Once sung, it will play on long after they've retired. Years later when they are all long past the days of squeezing into skinny jeans or getting away with a mullet, the instruments will be hung on the wall. Now a decoration, a reminder of the glory days rather than a functional item. When the guitars remain silent, gathering dust, there'll be someone discovering their music for the first time, someone who wasn't born until after the band's peak fame. 

The new fans get to take the short cut, they can get to know the band with a video from 1988, skipping ahead to 1991, then 1997, watching the band change quickly, develop musically, fashions altering before their eyes. The band members may look older, going from the informal look of mullets and tank tops, to the later years of shorter hair and smart shirts during performances. The band had to take the long way around, living through every day, but thanks to technology, a fan can watch the entire forty five year history of the music in a day. A lifetime flashing before their eyes.

A voice that is timeless, as deep and powerful as the mighty Atlantic but as gentle as the summer breeze whispering through the highland heather. It is within that voice that midnight storms raging on the island can be felt, voices of the ancestors heard, hauntingly beautiful. A voice that every time it is heard, hits the listener directly in the soul. So distinctive there can never be another, he makes a war cry sound like a symphony.

** And as we search the here in the morning  
Or at the closing of the day  
The message of the journey  
Leads me back **

The music will continue to exist and will be discovered by younger generations, in new mediums, the band will always be remembered as pioneers of Gaidhlig music. Their songs have withstood the test of time, even those from the 1970's still sound contemporary today. Their sound eternally relevant.

After all of that, the long career, the forty five years of music, everyone who has shared this wonderful journey holds fond memories that will be forever treasured. 

** “You're home man, that's a long road you drove us down.” **

Tapadh leibh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics: (copyright of Donnie Munro)
> 
> Fields of The Young - On The West Side - 1999  
> What breaks the heart  
> Is now easy to feel  
> But the pain and the joy  
> Forever in these hills  
> -  
> But my heart feels the surge  
> Of the deep running river  
> That carries me back  
> To the fields of the young
> 
> Highland Heart - Across The City And The World - 2002  
> An engine heart on a Highland highway  
> A Gaelic voice with a Memphis smile  
> -  
> In his dreams, a new dimension  
> In his hopes, a different world  
> Culture clash and a vain intention
> 
> Winds Of Our Time - Heart Of America - 2006  
> On the morning clouds roll  
> Where the moorland's on fire  
> Where the turn on the road meets the sky  
> And your heart its burning desire  
> -  
> And as it stands out here before us  
> We feel the ghosts of another time  
> Where all the roads we have travelled  
> Lead us back  
> -  
> And as we search the here in the morning  
> Or at the closing of the day  
> The message of the journey  
> Leads me back
> 
> The Cutter: (copyright of Calum and Rory McDonald)  
> You're home man, that's a long road you drove us down.

**Author's Note:**

> Other recommended songs:  
> Play Gaelic:  
> Duisg Mo Run (Wake Up My Love)  
> De ni mi (What Will I Do)  
> Chi M'in Geamhradh (I See The Water)
> 
> -
> 
> Highland Connection:  
> Gamhna Gealla (White Stirks)  
> Màiri  
> Fichead Bliadhna / Na Luing air Seòladh (Twenty Years)  
> Loch Lomond  
> Na h-Uain a's t-Earrach (The Lambs in the Springtime)  
> Morning Tide
> 
> -
> 
> Recovery:  
> An Toll Dubh (The Black Hole/Dungeon)  
> Rubh Nan Cudaigean (Cuddy Point  
> Tir An Airm (Land Of The Army)
> 
> -
> 
> Heartland:  
> O Cho Meallt (Much Deception)  
> This Darkest Winter  
> Lifeline  
> Dance Called America  
> Cnoc Na Feille – (The Hill At The Marketplace)
> 
> -
> 
> The Cutter And The Clan:  
> Alba (Scotland)  
> Hearts Of Olden Glory  
> Pride Of The Summer  
> Rocket To The Moon  
> The Only Rose  
> Protect And Survive
> 
> -
> 
> Searchlight:  
> Every River  
> Tìr A' Mhurain (Land of the Marram Grass)  
> Tear Down These Walls  
> Only The Brave  
> Sìol Ghoraidh (The Genealogy of Goraidh) 
> 
> -
> 
> Big Wheel:  
> Healer In Your Heart  
> Always The Winner  
> An Cuibhle Mòr (The Big Wheel)  
> Edge Of The World  
> Hearthammer  
> Flower Of The West
> 
> -
> 
> Amazing Things:  
> Amazing Things  
> The Greatest Flame  
> Move A Mountain  
> Forever Eyes OF Blue  
> Sràidean Na Roinn-Eòrpa (Streets Of Europe) 
> 
> -
> 
> Mara:  
> The Mighty Atlantic  
> The Road And The River  
> Meadhan Oidhche Air An Acairseid (Midnight On The Harbour)  
> Lighthouse
> 
> -  
> Donnie's Solo Albums:  
> -
> 
> On The West Side
> 
> On The West Side  
> Chi Mi'n Tir (I See The Land)  
> Dark Eyes  
> The Garden Boy
> 
> -
> 
> Across The City And The World:
> 
> Sweetness On The Wind  
> Queen Of The Hill  
> You're The Rose  
> The Weaver Of Grass  
> Irene  
> She Knows Love  
> Highland Heart 
> 
> -
> 
> Gaelic Heart:
> 
> Sine Bhan (Fair Sheena)  
> Griogal Cridhe (Darling Gregor)  
> Calum Sgaire 
> 
> -
> 
> Heart Of America:
> 
> Heart Of America  
> Strangers To The Pine  
> Winds Of Our Time  
> Where The Roses  
> Cha Till (I Will Not Return)  
> Harvest Wind


End file.
